My wife was a man.

In the hush of twilight’s gentle gleam, When shadows dance and whispers dream, A tale unfolds of love’s grand scheme, Where truth is bent and fancies stream. My wife was a man, a truth so rare, With eyes that held the midnight’s stare, His heart was tender, fierce and fair, A paradox beyond compare. Through gilded halls where echoes tread, Our laughter rang and tears were shed, For in his arms, no fear nor dread, Yet secrets deep our lives did thread. We waltzed through days of golden light, With stars to guide us through the night, No mortal gaze could pierce the sight, Of love’s embrace in soft moonlight. Though whispers grew and tongues did weave, Our bond stood firm, none could deceive, For in each touch, each sigh, we grieve, A love transcending what we believe. In every dawn and twilight’s fall, The truth, like shadows, does enthrall, My wife was a man, and through it all, Our love endured, a timeless call.